


I Turn At Last To Paths That Lead Home

by AlyssiaInWonderland



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Eventual Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Not very eventual this is a short fic, Self-Esteem Issues, but you get the point
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-24
Updated: 2019-10-24
Packaged: 2021-01-02 09:04:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21159086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlyssiaInWonderland/pseuds/AlyssiaInWonderland
Summary: A small look at how Zuko and Sokka see themselves and feel over the course of the ATLA show.Zuko and Sokka's stories and paths keep overlapping and running in close parallel, and so do their characters. This is a series of moments through which they each find themselves and each other.





	I Turn At Last To Paths That Lead Home

Years have passed since it happened, and yet Zuko still can’t get over it. 

He tosses recriminations at himself; vain, selfish, bad.

It’s just a scar.

The flames he bends burn with anger, desperation, and a secret, buried fear.

* * *

Sokka is trying his best to be brave.

He practises with his boomerang every day; remembers his father’s gentle, implacable request for him to stay behind and protect his family.

Some part of him is still raw that he couldn’t go, wasn’t man enough, and the rest of him is pathetically grateful that he can be here, with his (annoying) sister and GranGran.

He’s always needed a mission, and if he can’t have the Fire Nation’s soldiers to hunt, at least he can protect the people who need it, back home.

The snowmen he made for target practise have mysteriously grown rocky eyes and crooked smiles.

A little boy, younger than Sokka was when their fighters had left, peers out from behind the right-most pile of snow.

Sokka raises his boomerang, draws cold air into his lungs, and chases the kid away.

His father taught him kids have no place in a war.

Unfortunately, he’s not sure that, if the war comes to them, these kids will have a choice.

He didn’t.

* * *

Fire arcs from his movements. Each form, sharp and urgent, latent with coiled energy, stored in his muscles and finally baring outwards as flame.

It is strong; fierce enough to knock back the guards he spars with, and shouldn’t that be enough?

Uncle demands that he drills again. He lectures about control, about needing a centre.

He is stronger now than he was as a child.

Fire comes from the breath, Zuko.

His centre was burned three years ago (and all the years before and since), and the heat crushes his lungs, and he is strong enough to blast a grown man off his feet.

He doesn’t need to be coddled with balance or the false comfort of a calm centre, like his Uncle.

He is strong.

He has to be.

* * *

Sokka’s regret prickles in his chest, uncomfortably sharp as he loads up their canoes.

His sister is working herself up into a frenzy, arguing with the knife of ice in the wind as he tries to stop her.

Last time she got close to this angry, she broke the Avatar out of an iceberg. It’s unlikely that this particular circumstance will repeat itself, but it’s enough to make his interjections a little more concerned than normal.

When she hugs him, the soft fur lining of her hood tickles his lips, and he knows, resignedly, that he’ll be pulling tiny strands of it from his mouth for the next day at least.

He doesn’t mind so much. Even after GranGran’s insistence he be nice.

He can be nice.

He has a mission, and he has his sister, and soon they will have the Avatar.

He has even faced the enemy; a teenager with a scar red as his hateful banners.

Sure, the confrontation was short-lived. It’s not his fault Aang is the Avatar, and took all the fighting for himself.

He’s ready to do whatever it takes to keep his sister’s hope alive.

* * *

He’s followed the Avatar for so long, the idea that he might finally be close to victory is numbing.

Of course, that might be the cold.

He thinks of his stomach, the swirling pool of fire there in the flow of his chi, and he breathes.

Flames curl out of his lips and nose, and he struggles to conceal a smile.

His Uncle taught him well.

* * *

After the North Pole, Sokka can’t sleep.

He stares at the sky, scouring the stars and the pitch darkness behind them, for some form of meaning.

He tries not to notice how the moon eclipses the stars with her brightness.

He practises with his boomerang on an unsuspecting clump of trees, and tries to build on the maps in his head and on their limited papers. He keeps himself constantly in motion, because he wasn’t built to brood, angst and try to meditate away his feelings.

Sokka’s world is built on foundations of logic and action.

He liked Yue.

So he acted on it.

His hands shake too much and the maps rustling is hidden by the wind in the trees.

Finally, when he’s so tired that blinking feels heavy, he feels the moonlight touch his skin.

Her presence washes over him, and he drifts into sleep at last.

* * *

His name is Zuko.

His fever-addled brain struggles to pull together the fragmented shards of his identity.

He is the son of Ursa. 

An entire pail of water cannot douse the contradictions raging inside him, ravaging his understanding of himself, of his destiny.

He is the nephew of Iroh, Dragon of the West.

He grips the wood and metal so hard that it cuts into his hands. The sensation burns sharp and bright, intertwining with his fever until he’s not sure where his body ends and the fire around him begins.

He is the son of Ozai and brother to Azula.

He flings the pail across the room, barely understanding the words that scrape from him as hands that are too kind for him to recognise encourage him to rest.

He sleeps fitfully, and then deeply.

When he wakes, the burning has receded. He feels empty; a fragile shell holding someone he doesn’t know.

Tea tastes strong and good on his tongue, and his Uncle’s care doesn’t blister, and he thinks this might be what peace feels like.

His destiny, once rolled out before him like the red, red carpet of the Firelord’s throne room, has vanished.

When he looks ahead, all he sees is a dizzying absence of purpose, of path.

He looks at his Uncle’s worried, wrinkled face, and thinks that in the absence of a clear road, he can follow this man.

He’s never steered him wrong before.

* * *

Seeing his father again is the hardest thing Sokka has ever done.

Fighting Azula, tricking an ancient spirit, going up against brainwashing and the Dai Li; all of it pales in comparison.

His stomach is roiling with nerves, and he’s barely inside his own body as he walks into the war meeting in the tent, and then his face is squished against hide and fur he’ll be picking out of his mouth (Katara must have inherited that particular annoyance from Dad), and he is happy.

Saying goodbye is easier, this time.

He has a mission with the Avatar, and his father has a mission with the Fire Nation, and they will see each other again.

His sister needs him.

For once, though Katara would hit him for thinking that simply being a man is enough to make him able to protect people, he does feel man enough to protect her, and Aang, and Toph.

His father’s approval can carry him through anything; like a wave of assurance, of confidence.

He’s not just Hakkoda’s son; he is Sokka; meat and sarcasm guy. Plan guy, boomerang guy. The boy stumbling into adulthood while trying to save the world, clumsily and stubbornly protecting two master benders and the Avatar, with nothing but his weapons and wits and determination.

Whoever he is, he is enough.

* * *

Zuko has everything he ever wanted.

His destiny has arrived, his path at its close.

He has his father’s approval, and a girlfriend who understands him.

They hate the world and don’t hate each other, and kissing her doesn’t feel empty and hollow, and she feels the same way. They don’t talk about it, but they do love each other, even if they both also know, through silent solidarity, that given freedom from nobility, they would be the best of friends and that only. Sometimes, Mai watches Ty Lee and Zuko thinks about Jet, and they hold hands tighter to feel the warmth of another person who cares.

When they kiss, they don’t feel alone, and that’s good enough for them.

It’s his first taste of acceptance, and he doesn’t understand how bitter it is until Azula begins her games and her lies and taunts.

Until Ozai’s love becomes so obviously conditional.

He sees Uncle through bars and he feels his destiny unravelling beneath him, and he yells and rails against something he doesn’t understand.

How can he feel so trapped, when life has finally gotten so good?

* * *

Leaving his father behind is the hardest thing he’s ever had to do.

It means defeat; it means he was wrong and he led a charge that failed. A futile waste of life.

He isn’t the kind to spend all his time wishing to change the past; what has happened, is, and there is nothing that he can do to change it. His father had faith in their plan, and they were out-manouvred, but they can still succeed.

They have to.

* * *

He is surrounded by fire and for the first time in his life it doesn’t burn.

It isn’t draining his energy; it  _ is _ his energy. A natural extension of himself, of the flow of his chi, that he can’t deny or repress or force because it has always been there and always will.

It is neither evil, nor good. It just is.

Like the sun brings life but burns skin; how forest fires raze the land to make way for new growth.

A cycle of rebirth.

Throughout his life, fire has been so many things to him.

First, it was his; a game and a friend.

Then, it was Azula’s.

After his father burned him, it was fear and duty and anger, a crushing weight he struggled to uphold.

His Uncle gave him back his breath, his strength; but he could not give Zuko the balance he needed. That was something he must claim for himself, just like his destiny.

In this maelstrom of colour and light, Zuko thinks that he has taken the first step on his new path.

The Avatar looks so young; delighted by the flames that he once feared as Zuko had.

They move through the dragon dance together, back at the temple, and they train, and meditate.

Aang is a quick learner; quicker than Zuko ever was.

He doesn’t bother to compare his progress to Azula’s. The Avatar is learning a firebending that is far more powerful than hers will ever be.

He isn’t jealous of Aang’s talent, and through it, he knows he is no longer jealous of his sister.

He has found his centre, and the first pieces of who he is, and who he hopes he will become.

He can recognise that his father and Azula need to be stopped. But instead of feeling victorious, vengeful, he just feels sad.

He wonders who Ozai is hurting, now that he’s a lost cause.

He hopes that Mai and Ty Lee are safe; together, even. They deserve that. Mai deserves that, she always had. She deserves happiness.

So does he.

* * *

Sokka can hardly believe that they won.

After everything they’ve been through, the running and fighting and pain, it’s over.

Of course, there is still much to do. There are cities to rebuild and reparations to make; a bending-less ex-Firelord and a Crown Princess to contain. Sokka understands why removing Ozai’s bending worked to win the fight, but he can’t help but feel it’s trouble waiting to happen, like a time-delayed bomb he himself had a hand in designing.

He doesn’t know how he can help. Without his sword, he has little to offer except his inventions and his good intentions. Katara is a Master Bender and is called for wherever she goes. Aang is the Avatar, even Toph finds her place in Republic City. He all too often struggles to find his place, in a world filled with people far greater than he will ever be.

He can’t feel useless for long. Hakkoda seeks his help as an Ambassador, and then he becomes a Councilman, and he remembers that he is enough. He can be what people need.

Zuko is Firelord now. It’s strange, to see him so commanding and beautiful. Sokka remembers how awkward he used to be, as Zuko pours him jasmine tea while they go over the joint court documents for the City’s police chief.

He thinks back to how, when they first met, he was sent flying. Sokka used to be awkward, too. They were both young, awkward boys struggling to uphold their missions, and find their destinies. Starving for attention and achievement.

Zuko’s hand brushes his, lightly, regarding him with golden eyes that remind him of Fire-hawks. Curious.

Sokka shakes his head, smiling, and puts down the papers he’s been holding absently. He takes another sip of jasmine to calm his heart beating bird-fast. His eyes want to linger on Zuko’s open, unguarded expression. He wants to tell him that he’s so very glad that they found their paths, and that their paths led together.

Instead, he settles into the warm, companionable silence as Zuko continues to flick through papers in the firelight. Sokka takes the discard-pile and a pen and starts drawing out some diagrams, because thinking so hard about communication gave him an idea about using the new electrical signals somehow.

Here, there is no pressure, unlike his day to day duties. Zuko doesn’t even mind the scratching of his pen as he works. Zuko likes his company, and his help, but he doesn’t request anything Sokka isn’t willing to give him. He doesn’t feel useless, and he doesn’t feel valued only for his usefulness.

He just is.

The war is over, and peace has begun.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! First time posting for ATLA! I hope it's good and does these lovely characters justice!
> 
> As ever, comments and kudos feed my dark, validation-craving soul ;p <3


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